


Keep Your Feet On The Ground, Kid

by AnnieMantic



Category: Big Hero 6 (2014)
Genre: Dialogue Heavy, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-16 13:28:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3489977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnieMantic/pseuds/AnnieMantic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Only birds were meant to fly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep Your Feet On The Ground, Kid

**Author's Note:**

> Whilst I am no stranger to writing Fic’s, this is the first I’ve written for BH6, and I am less than confident; Hiro’s head is not one I’ve found I can enter easily. However, a friend of mine showed me [this song,](http://youtu.be/P3rtWEk9Ufo?list=RDQ1HRcThcLcc) oblivious to the fact that I would immediately associate it with Hiro.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Hiro liked routine. Routine was safe. Routine was predictable.

This? This was not routine at _all._

Instead of the silent removal of boots and wrist-guards at the back door, his armour clutched to his chest like a badly kept secret, Hiro murmured under his breath for Baymax to lift the garage door. Instead of tiptoeing through his home, pausing at shadows that could hide his aunt with startling ease, he staggered to the tattered couch pushed to the fair-side of his workshop.

Instead of dumping his gear in a haphazard pile in the corner of his bedroom before cocooning himself in downy sheets, he was biting back screams on a rolled towel, tears pouring silently down his cheeks as Baymax set his broken arm with gentle hands.

_I’m fourteen. I’m fourteen_ fucking _years old._ Thoughts were hazy and untethered, his brain unable to pin down anything coherent as his companion snapped a ruler from his desk with a sharp _crack,_ aligning the two pieces on either side of his arm.

It wasn’t a compound fracture. More than likely greenstick. Splinting and binding were the best course of treatment. It was almost as if Baymax was prattling, his smooth voice tethering Hiro better than any other as he wrapped his arm from elbow to wrist. Well, better than any that he could hear anymore.

Whimpering against his makeshift gag as his arm was manipulated into a position Baymax deemed the most likely to prompt a ‘speedy recovery,’ Hiro squinted through watering eyes at the streetlight visible through the open garage door.

_This shouldn’t have happened._ Not the break; that was a necessary sacrifice. By throwing his arm out to stop GoGo’s uncontrollable careening towards the edge of the highway overpass, he’d probably saved her from something far worse than a simple break. It was no worse than a child might get from climbing a tree, really.

The thought of himself climbing trees again bought a bitter, almost hysterical stream of laughter from his throat.

“I still believe that hospitalisation is the best course of action, Hiro,” Baymax announced, his volume lowered in the dark of early morning, and it might be the pain (or desperation), but Hiro thought that the robot sounded concerned.

“-a simple fracture,” The robot continued, his voice fading in and out. “I recommend splinting and binding the arm, if you are adamant on not going to the hospital.”

“I can’t do this. I can’t. I fucking can’t.”

“Hiro, I believe-“

“Enough, Baymax!” The towel tumbled down his chest and settled in his lap. Hiro tugged his bound arm from the robot’s loose grip, hugging it to his chest as heat lanced up through his wrist like fire, and Jesus _Christ,_ wasn’t fire just the beginning and ending of the hell that become his life?

“What are we doing, Baymax? GoGo nearly _died_ tonight, and before her Honey, and before _her_ it was Fred, and it’ll be Wasabi next…”

“Hiro, I believe that you are suffering from shock. I recommend-“

“Baymax, I don’t _care about what you recommend,”_ the boy hissed, his voice dripping with venom. Pushing himself to his feet, Hiro struggled to pull his helmet off one-handed, staring at it with an ugly sneer on his face before pitching it into the corner of the room. It hit concrete, the visor visibly bent as it rolled in the dust. There were hairline cracks running across the purple paintwork.

Fractured.

Hiro’s chest heaved, his arm throbbing with the beat of his heart, a cruel and traitorous reminder that his heart was still beating, keeping him alive whilst the brother he loved rotted below the ground. His brother, his _hero,_ dead.

“Would Tadashi…would he want this?” turning on Baymax, Hiro gestured to his arm, teeth gritted. “Would he want us risking our lives every night like this? We hurt more than we help! We hurt…”

_I hurt. I hurt and I hurt and it doesn’t stop, Baymax. I wake up and the air is too still, too stale. There’s a gap where Tadashi should be and I can’t fill it with good deeds, I can’t fill it with wishes and dreams, dreams that_ aren’t mine.

“Tadashi would want you to be happy,” Baymax answered, his black eyes following his charge as he paced the workshop, pulling pieces of purple armour from his chest, his legs, each of them meeting the same fate as his helmet; a brief flight before crashing and burning on the ground.

“Well, I’m not.” Running his uninjured hand through his hair, Hiro stopped, his lip caught between his teeth. “I’m not happy, Baymax. I don’t know _how_ to be happy anymore. I don’t…”

It was like his companion teleported across the distance between them; one second his shadow stretched a mile, the next it was gone, Hiro’s head held gently against a vinyl chest, one arm wrapped around his back.

“I recommend that you let your emotions out, Hiro,” Baymax said, he voice almost gentle. “You have been so strong.”

Hiro struggled weakly against the robots grip, his kindness melting the pain that just wanted to rage, to tear down the world around him and _demand_ that his brother was returned to him, even as the fear threatened to swallow him whole…

“Tadashi would not want you to live in pain. He would not want to see you like this. I believe that it would cause him pain, also. Do not fight if you believe it would be what Tadashi would want.”

“Then what do I do?” Hiro hated how _small_ his voice sounded. How young.

“You honour Tadashi by following your own dreams. You do not need to be a hero to do heroic things. But most of all-“ A plastic hand ran through his hair, and if Hiro closed his eyes and just pretended, it was almost like…

“Remember that Tadashi would be proud of you, no matter what.”

Salt stung his lips, his breathing hard over cracked lips and everything ached with sheer _loss_ and he was just a kid, just a kid trying to fill shoes that didn’t need to be walked in and if only Baymax had tacked on _knucklehead_ then for a moment, just one small moment, Hiro could’ve pretended that everything could get better.


End file.
